Dancing with a Sparrow
by R4v3n Kn1ght
Summary: When Crown Prince Eduarde dies, Mia Thermopolis's life is not the only one that is turned upside down. A young man from Genovia loses his dreams when he is pressured to pursue his right to the throne. This is Nicholas Devereaux's story.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** _Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I'm simply playing with them. They belong to Meg Cabot, the screenwriters, Disney, and the actors who gave the characters life on the screen. No disrespect is intended, and I am certainly making no money from this story. _

_I only know the films; I've never read the books. However, I may steal a tidbit or two from the books if I find mention of something that would work for the story from a place like Wikipedia or something. (Just wanted to establish that.) _

_~ I started writing this because I am a shipper of Nicholas Devereaux/Mia Thermopolis, and was sad at the lack of the pairing to be found _anywhere!_ Therefore, I resolved to do it myself. So, yes, this is a piece featuring that pairing…but not for a few chapters at first. I hope people read this and enjoy it. (If you do, please review.) This story will be mainly from Nicholas's perspective, but not in the first person. Enjoy everyone, and don't forget to review!_

**Dancing with a Sparrow**

**~Prologue~**

With his small packet of information ready to present to his mother, his aunt and his uncle, Nicholas Devereaux exited the backseat of the car after it had fully stopped. He was so excited that he did not even bother to wait for the staff to open the door for him. He was sixteen and knew what he wanted to do. The packet he brought home with him detailed everything his family would ever want to know about Culinary Schools. He wanted to be a gourmet cook in his own restaurant, and now he knew how to become just that. He was one step closer to his dreams.

Nicholas had intended to give his mother the good news when he walked through the door to his uncle's house, but his intentions were instantly shattered when he barely had time to clear the threshold before his uncle's heavy hand came down upon his shoulder, propelling him into the house. His bag was lifted from across his chest, and his packet was torn from his hands. He didn't even see where the items had gone before the sound of the front door closing echoed in his head like a judge had found him guilty of the crime of rebellion.

"Uncle, what?"

Nicholas looked to his uncle questioningly. He looked more pleased with himself than usual, and the young man found he did not really like the look of him so pleased. He wasn't simply pleased. It seemed to be a twisted pleasure.

"My boy, something wonderful has happened!"

Nicholas wondered for a moment if his uncle knew about his hope for culinary school. His bright blue eyes glowed with excitement. "Yes, it has. I've found everything that I would need to work it all out."

"Have you now?" asked his uncle, Viscount Mabrey, with an even more twisted glee openly revealed on his face. "And what plans have you devised then?" he whispered as though to a coconspirator.

"If I take a class maybe this summer I will be able to get enough experience in order to get accepted," beamed Nicholas. He never thought his uncle would take the news so well.

"I don't think you need a class in this, Nicholas," reassured his uncle as he steered him towards the parlor where he knew his wife and sister-in-law sat.

Nicholas looked up in confusion at the bigger man. He was reminded just how thin and small he was when his uncle wrapped an arm around his shoulders and crushed him against his side like they were best friends. He shifted to get more comfortable. "But, if I don't take a class, how will I get enough experience?"

Viscount Mabrey smiled down at Nicholas. "You are a lord, Nicholas. Ever since your father died," he continued, ignoring his nephew's flinch, "you are Lord Devereaux. And now, the time has come for you to fully act like it."

They had reached the parlor, and the first thing Nicholas noticed was his mother sitting on a sofa, a handkerchief clutched in her hand, while her other hand trembled as she held the newspaper. He then took in his aunt, his mother's sister, sitting straight and stone-faced. His uncle practically dragged him through the room. "But what does being a lord matter in culinary school?"

"Cooking school?" asked his uncle. Nicholas nodded. "Cooking school?" roared the other man, letting him go just long enough to push Nicholas into an armchair firmly. "What on earth do you think we were talking about since you walked in the door?"

"I…"

His uncle didn't give him a chance to finish before he strode to his sister-in-law and snatched the newspaper from her. He stormed back to Nicholas and shoved the paper at the boy. "This, my boy. Do you understand what this means?"

Nicholas numbly took the newspaper in his hands and stared half-comprehendingly at the headline.

_**Genovia Mourns! Crown Prince Eduarde has Died.**_

Nicholas continued to stare at the headline for a moment. Then, he lowered it to his lap in a daze. "Do you know what this means, Nicholas?" asked his uncle. Nicholas didn't say anything. He continued looking at the headline. "It means that you can take your place as King of Genovia once you turn twenty-one. You are eligible for the throne." Nicholas's eyes flew up to look at his uncle in disbelief. "And rest assured, my boy, with my seat in Parliament, you _will_ be king. There is no other heir."

Nicholas could do nothing but stare at his uncle in horror. What if he didn't want to be King of Genovia? He looked back at the headline, hoping it was a bizarre joke his uncle was playing. He thought of the packet he'd brought home. He didn't want to rule. He wanted to cook. For the first time since his father died, Nicholas felt trapped in his uncle's home.

Finally, he raised his eyes again and found that he met those of his mother, from whom he had inherited his clear blue eyes. He saw a tear slide down her cheek as she gazed upon him. He let his mother cry for his lost dreams.

_To be continued… _

_Let me know what you think! Feedback is how we get paid, so be kind and leave your thoughts. Thanks! (Keep flames to yourself, please. Thank you.) _


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**: _I'm sorry for the long delay, everyone. Hope you all enjoy this chapter. But, really, people, if you read, please leave a thought or two about this. It encourages me to write more. Thanks to the five reviewers so far! I was thrilled to get your reviews! Happy reading, everyone!_

**~ Chapter One ~**

_**Several Weeks Later…**_

With his lips set in a firm and angry line, the young man cracked an egg and separated the shell carefully to keep the shape of both ends of the shell. Then, he began to pass the yolk from one shell half to the other, separating the whites from the yolk, letting the whites drip into the mixing bowl underneath his hands. Once he separated the yolk, he put it in a separate bowl and kept it whole as the recipe said. He moved on to the second egg. He cracked it, but used a bit more force than the last time. The shell broke messily and the egg began to pour out, the broken yolk and whites blurring together. He looked at it through already blurred vision, realizing that his fingers were already starting to crust over in the egg whites from the previous egg separating.

In a burst of anger, he picked up the oozing egg and threw it with a viciousness that caused a gasp from the doorway of the kitchen he did not even hear in his fury. He didn't even have the energy to wipe his tears away. He looked to the ceiling and blinked furiously, trying to keep his tears in his eyes. He planted his hands on the countertop and hung his head trying to breathe. His struggles prevented him from hearing someone's approach.

When he felt familiar arms wrap around his shoulders and collarbone, his eyes sprung open and then he couldn't stop the single sob that was ripped from his throat. He felt a chin perch on his shoulder. "That's coming along," came the encouraging voice of his mother.

He snorted at the comment. "No, it's not." Before she could say anything else, he kept talking, nodding his head towards the open recipe book. "I can't even read and then do what it says. I disintegrated three of the boudoirs. It's…It even said to watch out for that! And then I finally get them lined in the…the…charlotte mold. And just _now,_" he said, his voice raising and his breath coming shorter. "I can't even crack an egg right to separate it!"

His mother's arms tightened around him and he found his back pressed against her chest, feeling the reassuring heartbeat against his back. For once, it did not calm him. "We have more eggs, sweetie."

He once again threw his head back. "Mom, but…I…you can't mess up cracking _eggs_ at culinary school! You just…If you can't crack an egg, people will think you're only…" He took a breath. "People would think I'm only there because I'm…a lord or something, and not because I actually _want_ to bethere."

She turned her head and pressed a kiss to her son's temple. "Sweetie, everyone has bad days, including cooks—"

"Chefs," he said.

"Chefs," she amended, "and even lords of Genovia."

Nicholas looked at the mess that was the counter. "I just thought that…maybe…I'm not supposed to be a chef…I'm not supposed to—"

"Nicholas," she said. "Turn around." With a sigh, her son obeyed but hung his head, refusing to look at her. "Look at me." His tongue darted out to wet his lips before his blue eyes lifted to meet hers. She reached up and ran her hand through her son's milk chocolate brown hair. She wondered when he would sprout to tower over her like his father, but right now she would enjoy the fact that he was even with her in height. She cupped his cheek, using her thumb to gently wipe away the tears staining tracks down his face. "If you want to be a chef somewhere and own a restaurant, or even several of them, then there is nothing stopping you from doing that."

"But Uncle—"

"Don't you let him dictate your life. No one can force you to become king. And your uncle certainly can't prevent you from going to cooking school if that's what you want."

"Mom, I couldn't even crack an egg," he whispered, the fight beginning to leave him.

"Nicholas, how do you think great cooks got that way, so that they never crack an egg wrong?" She reached towards the extra eggs that were still out on the counter and picked one up, holding one between them. "They kept on trying until it was right, no matter how many eggs it took."

Nicholas looked down at the egg she offered to him, realizing that she was offering far more than the egg. Then, he slowly accepted it from her and looked at it for a long while. His eyes lifted to his mother's and he gave a tiny smile before he wrapped his arms around her. Instinctually, her arms enfolded him, one hand finally reaching up to rest on the back of his head, her fingers in his hair. "Thanks, Mom."

~X~X~X~X~X~

"Arthur, I don't think you have the right to force him into this," she protested.

"I have every right. That boy lives under my roof!"

Viscount Mabrey's wife charged forward. "My nephew is not going to be used in some game against the royal family of Genovia!"

He smiled tightly. "You speak as though you aren't related to that royal family, which you are, and closely enough to have that boy claim the throne legally and rightfully."

She huffed, shaking her head. "Étienne would never have forced Nicholas into this."

As soon as she mentioned his nephew's dead father, Mabrey grew thunderous. "Étienne isn't here anymore, Camille! And when he died, his last wishes were that his boy's well-being was to be managed by me. The man said so in his will, dearest." Camille hated when he called her 'dearest.' He always said it mockingly, never sincerely. She remembered when Arthur was a good man. If it weren't for Arthur Mabrey, her sister never would have met Étienne, who was her husband's best friend since they were in their teenage years. She was glad that Alaina married Étienne. They suited each other. Arthur had even been rather affectionate in the beginning of their marriage.

Until that fateful day that informed them that she was incapable of having children. She knew how important the idea of posterity was for her and her sister's family, how much Arthur was pleased to be aligned with them. But then, she could not have children. She could not contribute to posterity on their part of the royal family tree. After that, Arthur lost his affection towards her.

Until Alaina gave birth to an adorable infant son. Until Alaina gave birth to an heir.

Once this happened, Arthur began to dote on the boy, spoiling him with anything his money could give him when he could. But he did not step on the toes of his friend, of the boy's father, Étienne. Nicholas's parents agreed to not make him aware of his connection to Genovian royalty until he had experienced a normal childhood. They wanted him to be careless of impeccable manners, and obeying rigid custom, and not being allowed to do anything that a servant would normally do. Nicholas spent most of his time with the gardener, with whom Alaina also spent time. She enjoyed tending to flowers, but Nicholas always ended up wandering into the berry bushes, coming back with his lips smeared in berry juices, but smiling proudly. The cooks always forgave him when he would come back to the kitchen with a tiny basket of picked berries that he resisted eating. Whenever it was Nicholas's birthday, Étienne and Alaina refused to make it a spectacle. They only allowed family and close friends to attend. What was the point of having hundreds of people that their son didn't know at his party? They knew he would only ask questions, and they wanted to avoid telling him that he was of royal blood for as long as possible.

It was four months after Nicholas's sixth birthday that Étienne had died. He had been sick since just before his son's birthday, and had tried to hide the fact for as long as possible. But he was dying, and could not bear to tell his little boy. He could not bear to have his son think that his father was not strong. Étienne was a strong man, but his strength ran out when he battled disease for months.

And that was when Arthur stepped in. He offered Alaina and Nicholas to live at his estate, which was an offer she accepted as she found it increasingly difficult to remain in the home without her husband. However, she still owned it, but never resided in it.

Arthur Mabrey felt it was time to tell Nicholas that he was of royal blood. The boy was about to turn seven at the time Arthur told him. From that announcement on, Nicholas's uncle slowly began to shape him into the form of a young nobleman. One thing each year. One year it was etiquette and politeness towards others of royalty. The next it was an elaborate birthday party with dozens in attendance. Another it was horse riding lessons. After that began lessons in Genovian history. It continued like this for almost ten years.

What surprised and delighted both Camille and Alaina was Nicholas's refusal to forget things that his father taught him as a child. Nicholas still did things on his own. She remembered the times that she would wake up from an unusually disturbing dream, and would wander downstairs to find her young nephew talking in whispers to the cook of their home. She would watch from the barely ajar door as the cook and Nicholas established a rapport over the years. Until Nicholas turned twelve the cook would have him run for various ingredients throughout the kitchen, or perform the preparation before the actual cooking or baking. After realizing that Nicholas had found something that soothed him and that he was genuinely interested in it, Camille began to wake Alaina so that they could watch him through the door. They watched him forget the pressure of nobility and simply be a young man helping with breakfast.

Neither sister ever said a word about it while they all ate breakfast together in the dining room. It was a secret between the sisters and another secret between the cook and Nicholas. Arthur never knew…

…until the day that the Crown Prince of Genovia died, and Nicholas tried to plead for what he wanted with his uncle.

"He may have said in his will to look after Nicholas, but nowhere did he say 'make my son a king, Arthur.' Étienne, if anything, wanted the exact opposite! Why can't you let Nick have what he wants?"

Arthur threw down another newspaper from earlier in the week. The headline read, _'Search for Genovian Heir Continues.'_ He pointed to the headline enthusiastically. "Because of this!" He grabbed Camille by the upper arm and pulled her to stand over the newspaper. "There is no heir to the throne except for Nicholas."

Camille tried one more thing. "But, the von Trokens…"

He sputtered for a moment. "You would rather _them_ rule than our nephew? Are you mad?" He shuddered for an instant at the thought, then recovered. "Nicholas can't afford to daydream anymore. He has a duty to fulfill to Genovia, whether he wants to or not. And I intend to make sure that he is fully prepared to take his place on the throne when the time comes." He looked directly at Camille, his eyes glowing as he began to scheme in his mind. "Mark my words, Camille. Before he turns twenty-two, he'll be ready. And we'll be calling our nephew 'King Nicholas Devereaux.'"

~X~X~X~X~X~

Alaina Devereaux listened as her brother-in-law told her sister what would become of her son as she stood in the hallway nearly twelve feet from the kitchen door. She knew that Arthur would demand that Nicholas give up everything that gave him his character, everything humble about himself, in order to put him on the throne. She was grateful to Camille for defending the wishes of her late husband. Camille was right. Étienne would never have wanted Nicholas to give up everything he wanted to fulfill a twisted obligation to royalty that would never have been his in the first place had Queen Clarisse's children managed to have children.

She looked back towards the kitchen where she heard the busy activities of one person moving about in the room. Then, she heard Arthur proclaim that he would ready her son for the throne by the time he was twenty-two. She looked towards the source of the voices, sadly lost in thought. Nicholas had just turned sixteen in October. Her brother-in-law was about to train her son to be the perfect nobleman in five years. Would it really take that long?

Her son was stubborn if nothing else.

"Mom?" She turned to face her son who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Want to see it before I have to put it in the refrigerator?"

Alaina smiled at Nicholas as she walked back into the kitchen. There on the counter was a beautiful Chocolate Charlotte Cake in progress. Nicholas stepped aside so that she could get closer to the cake. He was nervously wiping his hands with a towel. She could tell he was nervous by the tension in his shoulders and the set line of his lips. She looked closely at the cake, deliberately stretching out his anticipation of her opinion. She teasingly closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the cake.

"Mom?"

She stood straight again and looked at Nicholas firmly, her face carefully neutral. He instantly stilled, fearing the worst. Then, she smiled. "Much better." Nicholas's face brightened in a smile. He nodded, satisfied, before he wrapped the cake and took out a baking sheet. He managed to open the refrigerator with his elbow and put the cake on the already empty shelf. While the door was still open, he put the baking sheet on top of the cake mold and took one of the heavier containers already in the refrigerator and set it on top of the sheet to hold it down on the cake. Then, he closed the door.

"It has to sit overnight."

Alaina was still smiling at him softly. "I can't wait to taste it." He smiled shyly, uncomfortable with praise, no matter who gave it. He looked down as he began to clean the area in which he made the cake. "Nicholas," she said. "I was listening to your uncle just now."

He stopped working and the tension was clear in his body language and his voice. "What did he say now?"

She stayed where she was. "As he was talking to your aunt, I had an idea." When her son turned to her looking curious, she continued. "Your uncle is a politician. He's used to striking bargains with the opposition sometimes."

"And I'm the opposition." He said it rather than asked it.

She nodded. "Do you want to be King of Genovia?"

He shook his head. "Not really, no."

"You're going to be so long as your uncle as anything to say about it, but I thought that you might be able to still get what you want if you demanded something for yourself."

He tilted his head. "But it has to come from me, right?" At her nod, he thought on what she was hinting at. Then, he understood. "I have to agree to do as he says so long as I'm allowed to go to culinary school. He has to give me something before I cave to him." She nodded slowly, knowing that he was catching her hints. She felt no pity for Arthur. He would not force her son into anything. Nicholas nodded at her too. "Then, I'll do that."

"He may want you to have a specific major when you attend a university."

"Then, I'll have two degrees. I don't care how long it takes. I'm not going to rule Genovia until I finish my degree for what I want and what he wants. Even if it's later than he wants for me to start ruling the country." He thought for a moment, thanking his mother for the idea with his eyes. "He either lets me go to culinary school or I don't become king."

_To be Continued…_

_Please review. I want to know what people think of this story. (I understand that for some reason there seems to be a shortage of support for this character, but I'm hoping there's more reader support out there.) I'd love to hear from people, so leave a review! Thanks! Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! ~ RK _


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** _Hello, readers! Thank you for your fantastic reviews! I'm so sorry for not updating in a shamefully long time. I'm actually having a bit of a hard time with this story. I realized that I should have probably waited to post this until I got a whole lot farther. However, if you are willing to stick around…I'm quite confident that I will finish this one! _

_I hope I somewhat made up for the massive delay in writing/posting by giving you all a bigger chapter than normal. Happy reading! ~ RK _

_One last thing: Lightning Eterna in a review alerted me to a rather embarrassing mistake with Viscount Mabrey's given name. Thanks to her, his name will be restored to that as stipulated in the film: Arthur. I will, however, be keeping Victor as his middle name. Therefore, for the purpose of this story, the character's full name is: Viscount Arthur Victor Mabrey. Thanks, Lightning Eterna! (I'm so embarrassed to have missed that!) If I missed a correction in the previous chapters or in this chapter, please let me know through a Private Message. (Or if reviewing anonymously, in a review.) Thank you!_

**~ Chapter Two ~**

Nicholas woke up later than usual. He liked to sneak down early to assist in the kitchen with breakfast, and then secretly congratulate himself with a satisfied smile on a meal well done while everyone in the household devoured it. He didn't quite make it out of bed early enough that day. However, that did not stop him from noticing that for some reason, breakfast consisted of a rather superbly prepared batch of sweet crepes with hand-whipped cream with which to top them. His mouth watered and his nose appreciated it, even if his body was not otherwise fully awake.

He took his place at the table to the right of his uncle. Ever since he and his mother came to live here, his place was always at his uncle's right. If he were not so focused on the appealing food in front of him, he would have seen that his mother was absent from the table. His attention on the food, however, did not last long.

"Apparently, the Queen has left the country for a little…vacation," announced Arthur. "Probably off mourning and sight-seeing all at the same time." He piled fruit on top of the rolled crepes that were on his plate, obviously thinking that the cook didn't include the correct amount on the plate that had been set in front of him. As soon as he saw the 'lack of a full plate' Arthur had shouted for the cook to bring him a bowl of extra fruit and another bowl of cream. Once it arrived, he tore into it with an energy that befits any gluttonous person.

For a moment Nicholas stared at the mountain on his uncle's plate with horror. That was definitely the wrong ratio of fruit to crepe to cream. It did not even look appealing the way his uncle carelessly piled it higher and higher. He looked down at his own plate, silently thanking the cook for his keen eye for appealing dishes. His fruit – particularly his strawberries – was placed like an edible floral arrangement around and delicately on top of the crepes. It was a work of art. Nicholas was definitely starting to appreciate that food seemed to taste better when it was treated artistically and carefully. One had to practically have a love-relationship with food in order to cook it well. And Nicholas loved food. He cut into the crepe as though performing surgery, determined to enjoy it, and trying to block out his uncle's voice. He wanted the world to be just him and his crepes.

Then, his uncle spoke right at him.

"What do you think, Nicholas?"

With his taste buds in the midst of savoring the mouthful he was working on, all Nicholas could do was widen his eyes and raise his eyebrows questioningly at his uncle. Thankfully, Arthur understood the expression. "I asked you what you thought the Queen was thinking, going out of the country like that. Does she think she doesn't have a country to run?"

Nicholas swallowed and found himself answering before he could censor himself. "She probably felt trapped here. Losing your husband and son has to be hard. I can't imagine what it must be like to try to keep ruling Genovia while going through something like that."

The look Arthur sent his nephew was a strange mixture that Nicholas wasn't sure whether he should label it as dumbstruck, horrified, or amused. Then, Arthur's mouth curled in an odd-looking smile. "Nicholas, when you take the throne of Genovia you won't be so weak as to need complete distraction if anyone dies will you?"

He knew it was not a question he should answer honestly. His uncle would want that 'rehearsed' answer. When he spoke, he spoke with an empty voice. "Nope."

"That's my boy," Arthur said as he skewered a chunk of his butchered and smothered crepe. He pointed his form at his nephew. "Because you, unlike that woman whose rule we must endure until you turn twenty-one, are strong! It will be glorious when you are crowned, Nicholas." He shoved the forkful into his mouth, and then to Nicholas's horror spoke. "Glorious."

Nicholas, despite the fantastic breakfast he was determined to enjoy, found himself thinking about the conversation he'd had with his uncle the previous night.

_Arthur had called him into his library, which he rarely used unless he wanted to seem intimidating, and announced his nephew's future. _

"_I've decided that when it's time for you to attend university, you'll be going to Cambridge." _

"_But…do they have a culinary—"_

"_Yes, well, as to that, I've also made arrangements for you to be tutored and educated in several high class restaurants that let you play with your food as much as you want." _

"_Uncle, cooking isn't playing with food. It's—"_

_Arthur waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, well, whatever you want to call it, Nicholas, the point is that you _will_ be attending Cambridge in order to earn your degree in Politics and International Studies." _

_There was silence for only a few tense moments. Then, Nicholas's voice began to harden in protest. "We had a bargain." _

"_This is the best result you'll get, Nicholas. I'm willing to go this far." _

"_You can't force me to do anything I don't want to." _

"_I could disown you." _

_Nicholas's face became blank, but his voice was ice. "You're not my father." _

"_But you live under my roof. I control your finances until you come of age. You'd better be sure about every decision you make if you don't want to find my home closed to you and you on your own without any way of supporting you." _

"_I'll go back to my father's home. My mother still owns that." _

"_But the servants are mine. You'd have no one to help you." _

"_Why are you so against me doing something that will make me happy?" _

"_That was your father's idea and look where that got him."_

_It was a low blow and both of them knew it. "That's not fair, uncle." _

"_Neither is life, Nicholas. The sooner you grow accustomed to that idea and face the reality that your little utopian plans don't always pan out as you wish, the better off you'll be. When you finish school here, you _will_ go to university at Cambridge. You _will_ study politics. You have the option of working and learning in high ranked and high class restaurants for this hobby of yours, but that's your choice. And, lastly, you _will_ be crowned King of Genovia. While I can enforce it, you will do your duty to your country! And to your father! Do I make myself clear?" _

_Nicholas glared at his uncle with as much venom as he could. "Yes, sir." Before he did something he would later regret, Nicholas left the library and stormed towards his bedroom, unaware that his mother had heard every word between him and his uncle. _

While his uncle's mouth was busy with chewing, his aunt finally said something. "Nick." He turned his attention to her on his left at the other head of the table. "Your mother wanted me to tell you that she wanted to meet with you today at home."

"At home?"

Camille nodded. "Your old home."

His old home. The home in which his father died. The home he hadn't really lived in since he was a little over six years old. Between that memory of last night and the reminder of his former home, his delight from the morning instantly vanished. "Oh," he said. "Why?"

Camille shook her head. "She didn't tell me. But she did say that Henri would meet you at the house."

Nicholas smiled at the mention of Henri Marshall. Henri was the last good thing he associated with that old house. He was one of the last servants that his mother demanded that Arthur allow to remain on her old property. Henri maintained his mother's old house, and practically made it his own, along with his wife, Gretchen. They had no children of their own, but were content with maintaining the large house and living in it as frugally as possible. For this continued work, Alaina Devereaux managed to convince Arthur to continue their wages. Henri and Gretchen even agreed to come to Arthur Mabrey's home occasionally to assist his staff when large events took place at his home. It was not terribly often. Besides, it allowed Alaina to go to a clean and livable home when she rarely visited to escape her brother-in-law, and allowed her to have trusted friends in whom she could confide if she needed. It was a situation that agreed with everyone.

"Okay. When did she want me to go?"

Camille smiled at her nephew. "When you finish breakfast. She did say not to hurry. She knows you like breakfast, especially this one." Arthur was still tearing into his breakfast with gusto across from her, looking like he was murdering the crepes rather than eating them. She shook her head gently and ate some more of her food, sampling a spoonful of berries daintily.

Nicholas took another forkful of his fruit crepes and savored the taste, a smile on his face.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Nicholas did not even wait for the driver to open the car door for him. He did it himself. His uncle would loudly lecture him about that were he here. When he stepped out of the car, his attention was instantly drawn to the pair of his father's former servants standing in the doorway. It was like visiting long-time family friends.

Henri came forward to meet the teenager as the boy bounded over excitedly. For a moment, he was reminded of the little boy he'd known before Étienne had died. "Master Nicholas," he greeted.

Nicholas greeted Henri as he always used to as a child – with an enthusiastic hug. He no longer had to strain his chin to rest on the other's shoulder now. He'd grown since he was a child. "Hi, Henri." He squeezed the older man with his arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. Henri tightened his embrace for only a moment before the two men simultaneously and silently agreed to loosen their connection. Nicholas looked at Henri with his head tilted with mock authority. "And knock off the 'master' thing. The whole royalty thing creeps me out a little. It's just Nicholas."

By then, Henri's wife, Gretchen, who was not exactly a beauty by any means, had approached the younger man. "Well, then, 'Just Nicholas,' your mother's waiting for you."

"Where? In the house?" He started to enter his old home, when Henri stopped him by grabbing his upper arm.

"No, no. You remember your mother's favorite place, right?"

Henri smiled conspiratorially at Gretchen before they both looked again at Nicholas, who shook his head in confusion. He didn't remember this supposed 'favorite place.' Henri smiled at Nicholas warmly before he threw his arm around the boy's shoulders. "Come on, then, young man." He began to lead the teenager toward the stables. "Good thing I already saddled the other two horses, right? You wouldn't be able to find the place even if I told you where it was."

"Thanks for the confidence," Nicholas mumbled.

"You're welcome, Just Nicholas."

"Oh, please, stop. No 'master' and no 'Just Nicholas.'"

Henri touched his chest above his heart in a melodramatic display of emotional offense. "To be admonished by a teenager. It's true, it's the teenagers that are most moody, isn't it?" Henri looked over his should at his wife. "Them and women!" Gretchen folded her arms over her chest with an exaggerated frown as Henri led Nicholas towards the stables, both of them laughing.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Alaina sat against the trunk of the tree near the edge of the lake. It was her husband's favorite spot on his property, and in time became hers as well. It was under this tree that he'd proposed to her, and under this tree that they planned their marriage. She had always asked him to put a bench under the tree, but he had refused saying it would take away the simple beauty of the place to put something manmade in its environment. She had gotten her revenge when she convinced him to put a boat on the edge of the lake so that they could have a picnic on the water. He had initially thought of it in a bad way, but he eventually caved when he realized that the lake was well stocked with fish to catch.

She fingered the small package in her lap nervously, playing with the silk ribbon she'd tied around it instead of one of those ridiculously gaudy bows. Any moment now, her son would arrive and she was determined to keep herself together. She would not get al sentimental. She knew that even though he was remarkably secure in his emotions as a young man, there were still limits.

Her horse's snuffling caught her attention. It must have heard something. Alaina's musing on her husband and her nerves about the item in her lap vanished as she heard hoof beats on the dirt path leading to this spot. There were two horses. She smiled. She should have guessed that Nicholas would not have known the location of this favorite spot. Thankfully, Henri knew every foot of the property.

In another moment she saw her son riding with Henri as they came down the lane towards her and her tree. A gentle smile spread on her face as they came closer. In a graceful leap, Henri dismounted, while he supervised Nicholas's dismount. Nicholas still wasn't fully accustomed to horseback riding, despite Arthur's insistence in practice. He just didn't like it all that much.

Her son began to walk towards the tree under which she sat. She placed her ribbon-tied package to her left and out of sight. "Sweetie," she cooed at him as he began to settle himself on the ground.

He took in the area, the tree, the little lake. "This is your favorite place?" he asked, looking then at her with a suspicious glance.

She smiled. "You'll understand someday when you have a favorite place."

He chuckled. "I doubt it."

Nicholas continued to look out at the lake, where the sunlight made it glitter as the water shifted gently. Alaina studied her son. She was reluctant to ruin the peace of the moment, but she did not want to keep him wondering any longer than necessary. She would have time later to watch her son. "Honey, I heard what your uncle said to you last night."

And just like that the contentment on Nicholas's face disappeared to be replaced with a firm tension. "I wish you didn't." He took a deep breath.

"It's okay to be upset about him. He…He only wants what's best for you."

"Mom," he interrupted quietly. "No, he doesn't. He wants me to be what _he _wants to be. If he could crown himself, he would. I just…" He let the thought linger.

"Wish you could fight that." He looked at his mother then and saw the sympathy, the understanding in her gaze. He knew she was trying to find words. "I never wanted to tell you that you could one day rule the country. And then, when your father died, and Camille and Arthur offered us their home, I—"

"Mom," he whispered, looking harder at her now and noticing the guilt she had long buried without letting him know. "I don't blame you for this, or for how he is right now."

"No, I know." She reached up to run her hand through his hair, smoothing it back. "I know, sweetie." He laughed softly at the childhood endearment, his gaze lowering. "But I was thinking after I heard you and Arthur…talking." Alaina used her hand to tilt Nicholas's head up so that he would look directly at her. "I know that what he's offering isn't what you want, but sometimes when you don't exactly get what you want everything somehow still turns out okay." Nicholas's eyes clouded in doubt. She tried to smile encouragingly. "If we never went to live with your uncle and aunt, and if he didn't insist on all those 'Nobility Lessons' for you, I'm not sure if you would have still turned into the young man you are. You are turning into such a fine man, Nicholas. Your father would be so proud of you." It was quiet by the lake for a moment as she allowed Nicholas to absorb her words. "I'm proud of you, sweetie, even if your uncle is proving to be a little overbearing." She took a deep breath before saying the last point she wished to make. "And despite his…ways…" she shook her head, recognizing the understatement. "I agree with him on one thing at least." She framed her teenaged boy's face with her hands. "If it comes to it, you will make a wonderful King of Genovia. I know that if it were to come to it, you wouldn't let yourself be anything less than excellent. And I'll still be your mother, still here, and still proud of you."

Nicholas tried to offer a smile, but found himself too overwhelmed to be capable of it. "Mom—"

"However," she continued, letting him go and turning for a moment away from him, reaching for something. "If that day never comes, which I wouldn't mind, I think it only right to give you this." She turned back to him and he noticed that she held a box in her hands. It was tied with a ribbon. "Here," she said, holding it out to him.

Nicholas took it and set it in his own lap, removing the wrappings slowly, hoping to extend her anticipation as long as possible. He got to the main box and he managed to open the lid of the box. When he peered inside he saw a folded piece of fabric. His expression instantly turned confused and he glanced at his mother, for a moment wondering if she'd given him the right thing. When she still looked anxious, he decided it must be correct. This folded piece of fabric was white and green striped. He couldn't tell if it went horizontal or vertical yet. It was folded in the box, after all. But what tied it into the arranged bundle was a thin strip of the same fabric, tied into a tight bow directly in the middle.

"Go on," his mother urged him. "Take it out."

Nicholas took the bundled fabric out of the box and then undid the bow. He began to unfold it and watched as it took shape. He stood to better see the full form of it. It was an apron. He laughed, unsure whether to be offended or not. He looked at Alaina questioningly.

She had stood up and was forcing him to try it on. "Every good chef has to have an apron, right?"

He smiled. "I guess, I mean, I don't actually know. Don't restaurants and everything kind of give one to you?"

She reached around her son and pulled the ties to his front so that she could tie them together at his stomach rather than his back. "Well, if they don't, you have your own already. Show them you're serious about it." She finished tying. "And if they do, well…" She looked at him as he stood fussing with the new, crisp apron looking down at himself. "Then this could be your lucky apron or something."

"My lucky apron?" He caught her eye and knew what she wanted next. He rolled his eyes and turned, properly modeling the apron for her. When he faced her again, they were both smiling.

"It suits you, sweetie. A crown would, too. But this is just as good."

Nicholas smiled at his mother and allowed her to throw her arms around him and press him to her. She kissed his forehead, gently, before pulling away just enough to look in his eyes. "Whether you become a chef or a king, I'll be proud of you. You'll be wonderful at both."

Nicholas smiled.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Henri was riding ahead of mother and son on the way back to the house from the lake. He hoped that he might be able to arrive back at the stable and take care of his own horse before Alaina and Nicholas arrived. He patted the neck of his horse, Felipe, in thanks for bearing him. He had a rather good relationship with his horse. He had a good relationship with all four of the horses on the property, really, thanks to his tending them. In return they were very good with allowing him to exercise them with a ride, and he became an excellent horseman.

He briefly wondered why Arthur Mabrey felt it was necessary then to hire someone to teach Nicholas how to ride. Henri shook his head. It wasn't really his problem. It wasn't really his concern.

Then, his reverie was torn away by a single sound.

A scream.

A scream that was abruptly cut off.

Henri jerked the reigns and directed Felipe to turn to face the way they'd come. The initial sight he witnessed he would have normally thought beautiful and majestic. It was one of the horses…not trotting, not cantering, but running full speed towards him and Felipe. The sight would have been awe-inspiring except for one thing. The horse was without a rider.

With dread beginning to take hold, Henri jammed his heels into Felipe's sides and the horse took off at a fast run. Not bolting, but running strongly. He heard the agitated sound of another horse up ahead. Then, he saw it. It was bucking and stomping on the ground with its front hooves. Henri saw that Nicholas was trying to control the horse so that he could safely dismount, but was having little success. Henri directed Felipe to charge Nicholas's bucking horse and he reached out his hand to grab the reigns of the other animal. "Nicholas! Let me!" With practiced ease, Henri managed to get the horse to move forward, knowing that the boy's horse wouldn't be able to continue bucking while moving forward.

Henri tended to the stallion and was working to soothe it and get it under control when he finally realized that Nicholas had practically tumbled off the horse to get to something on the ground. It was then that the dread that had begun to clench in his stomach manifested completely. On the ground in an unnatural angle lay Alaina Devereaux with her son on his knees at her side looking unsure of what to do.

She was not moving.

~X~X~X~X~X~

He stared at the floor, his hands tightly clutching the box that he'd been given what seemed like days ago. People came and went past him. Some asked if he was alright. Others said nothing. Even worse, others sent him pitying looks. But none of these people mattered. Not one.

Except for the person of whom he had only moments ago received word.

Someone was beside him, but he didn't know who it was. Distantly, he thought that person was speaking to him, but all he heard was a muffled drone. He only was aware of one thing and that was the vision of his mother on the ground, her eyes closed and blood seeping from her head. He knew it would now be a vision that would haunt him for a very long time, if not the rest of his life.

He felt the couch on which he was sitting dip on his left. A different drone than the one on his right sounded. Nicholas thought that he should know the voice, but couldn't place it. He felt a weight settle hesitantly on his shoulders, and then there was a grip firmly on his upper right arm that urged him to lean to the left. He found his head gently held against a solid chest. Then, he inhaled and he realized just who was actually holding onto him. The smell of firewood was familiar. "Uncle," he choked on his own voice.

"Oh, my boy. Come on, let's get you home."

With a strength that Nicholas would not have expected from his uncle, the older man got him to his feet and supported him all the way to the waiting car. His uncle had tried to take away the box in his grip, but Nicholas pressed it to his chest and clung to it in blatant refusal to let it go.

He was silent all the way back to the house. He was silent through the door. He was silent when he was helped into bed. He was not, however, silent when he slept.

~X~X~X~X~X~

When they returned from the burial, Arthur was used to the idea of Nicholas saying very little, if anything at all. He had convinced Henri and Gretchen to relocate to his estate to work fully for him. He hoped that something familiar would encourage Nicholas to speak again. He also made sure to sell the horse that Alaina had been riding the day she died. No need to have it there as a constant reminder to Nicholas.

"Sir?" called Henri when they entered the house. In his hand he held a newspaper. "You might want to read this."

Arthur saw a picture on the front page of the newspaper. What had this person possibly done to earn the front page? There didn't seem to be anything special about this…child! She had glasses, thick eyebrows, and the biggest hairstyle Arthur had ever seen! Then, his attention focused on the headline. He stared at it in shock for only a moment before he snatched the paper from Henri and stomped off towards his library. He didn't want to put any more stress on his nephew, especially right now.

After taking a little longer outside the house, gathering himself quietly and with a silent deep breath, Nicholas entered the house, and had caught Henri's eye as Arthur walked quickly away from the entranceway.

It was many, many hours later when Nicholas walked into the library intent on finding a good book with which to distract himself when he noticed the newspaper sitting on his uncle's desk. He picked it up and read the headline.

_**Heir to Genovian Throne Found in San Francisco**_

Nicholas stood staring at the words for a long moment. Who on earth was this…girl? He looked at her a foreign feeling brewing in him with every moment. She was pale, an explosion of dark, frizzy hair – and that included eyebrows! – and thick framed glasses. There was a caption that contained her name. _Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi_. He now had a name. A name that connected this mysteriously discovered heir and this girl's picture he now glared at.

His mother told him the day she died that she would be proud to see him as either a chef or king. With his uncle's insistence on Cambridge, it seemed like king was where he was headed. And this American girl was not going to take that from him. He was going to make his mother proud. He was going to be crowned King of Genovia as close to his twenty-first birthday as possible.

Decision made, Nicholas Devereaux glared at the picture of the smiling girl he now considered his enemy.

**Chapter Notes:** _There should be a chapter or two more before we go into the timeframe of _The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement._ There are a few more things I wanted to handle before jumping into it. I'll see if I can make it one chapter for everyone. I know you're anxious for Mia to actually come into the story so they can interact. (Believe me, I'm excited, too!) _

_Keep the reviews coming! (Keep flames to yourself, please.) They brighten my day! Thanks for reading. I'll try to be faster for the next update. ~ RK _


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** _In case anyone missed it in the previous chapter Viscount Mabrey has been renamed! This notice was included in the previous chapter: __Lightning Eterna in a review alerted me to a rather embarrassing mistake with Viscount Mabrey's given name. Thanks to her, his name will be restored to that as stipulated in the film: Arthur. I will, however, be keeping Victor as his middle name. Therefore, for the purpose of this story, the character's full name is: Viscount Arthur Victor Mabrey. Thanks, Lightning Eterna! (I'm so embarrassed to have missed that!) If I missed a correction in the previous chapters or in this chapter, please let me know through a Private Message. (Or, if reviewing anonymously, in a review.) Thank you!_

_I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Review to let me know your thoughts! (No flames, though, thanks.) ~ RK _

**~ Chapter Three ~**

Nicholas had finally managed to distract himself from recent events by keeping himself sequestered in his uncle's library while he was not in school. He sprawled himself across the old-fashioned French settee cradling the book in his hand, and adjusting his glasses on his face, as he lost himself in a fictitious world. However, his musing and leisure was interrupted by the sound of whispering in the hallway just outside of the library.

"No, sir, the boy's in there reading."

Nicholas frowned. It bothered him that everyone in the house expected him to become the next king, yet still insisted on calling him "boy."

"Fine, fine," he heard his uncle say. "I had a thought today as this new headline about that…girl was released. Did you see it?"

"No, sir."

Nicholas heard a rustling of paper, which he assumed was a newspaper, before his uncle whispered again, this time sounding a bit more aggravated. "How dare she hold the Independence Day Ball in another country? To keep this newly discovered…I cannot bring myself to call her princess…this girl from coming here? So, instead, let's make every nobleman and woman in Genovia invade America to hold our own celebration!"

"She's the Queen, sir. She can do that."

"A queen with no respect for her subjects," he growled. Nicholas thought that would be the end of the discussion and he could go back to his book, but then he heard his uncle sigh heavily before he continued to talk. "I had a thought that maybe we can send you and your husband to America and try to find out as much as possible about this girl. Being in the Parliament, I've received an invitation to the State Dinner. I'm in a difficult position here, Gretchen. I have to prepare Nicholas for the throne, not go eating dinners to welcome her to the country she didn't even know existed!"

Nicholas actually sat up a little straighter at this. Was his uncle actually proposing what he thought?

"Sir, let me understand you," Gretchen began. "You want me to go to America and attend any formal dinners in your place?"

"You know the etiquette. You will accept the invitation in my place. I'll make my excuses for something. Then, you will report to me on anything you learn about the girl."

Nicholas heard Gretchen accept the idea. He didn't want Gretchen to leave, but he also didn't want to lose out on any information on _Princess Amelia._ If he had to get accustomed to having his parents' former staff members used as spies, then so be it.

Without another thought, he opened his book again and continued to read.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Nicholas stormed into the house, tossing the bow in his hand to his left as soon as he cleared the doorway. If he had to shoot one more arrow towards that stupid hoop he was going to shoot his archery instructor. He had always prided himself on being rather skilled in the traditional practices of Genovia's heritage. Although it has been the longest since he's ridden his horse. It was simply too soon. However, he did stop to visit his stallion at least every other day. It wasn't Cavalier's fault that Lucero threw his mother. He couldn't bring himself to punish his horse for it.

He was on his way towards the kitchen to cook something – anything! – to calm down a little bit. However, he stopped when he heard the television blaring in the sitting room. He rolled his eyes and wasn't sure if he could handle another update on _Princess Amelia_ at that moment. He was already annoyed with his own inability to fire one single arrow through a hoop! How hard could this possibly be?

He heard his uncle laughing boisterously at the television. At the sound, Nicholas could no longer resist curiosity. He pushed open the door a little bit and saw his uncle sitting comfortably in his armchair clearly enjoying himself. Arthur Mabrey waved his nephew into the room. "Come, my boy. I have news about this fiasco that should brighten your day."

Nicholas entered the room and looked at the television as he walked towards the plush sofa. He set himself down on one end. His uncle's voice boomed over the sound of the television. "Lay down, Nicholas. Lay down and enjoy this. Look at the girl!"

Nicholas looked and saw a rather indistinct shape crouched down in front of a little girl in a wheelchair. Was she signing something? Was she—

"Signing autographs! As if anyone of royalty should go around signing anything for anyone unless it's official state business!" roared Arthur mockingly. "Apparently, my boy, our dear Queen has influenced her the wrong way. She should be teaching her how to be an actual princess, but what is she doing? Acting like a celebrity! Using your rank to get out of things. The Queen actually evaded the law when this girl crashed a car into a…" He tried to remember the word. "…trolley car. Made up an award and everything. One law for the rulers and another for everyone else, it seems." He picked up his brandy glass and took a sip. "Did you hear what—oh wait, this should be entertaining."

They were both quiet as a rather made-up and blonde, bouncing, peppy girl was talking into a microphone. "…everything together. We shop together. We get our hair done together. We even finish each other's sentences. It's very cool."

"If that's one of her friends, the whole country's doomed isn't it, uncle?" Nicholas chuckled to himself.

"Not if you take the throne instead."

Nicholas smiled.

"You're far more intelligent, respect the traditions of your country—"

"But it won't matter if I can't shoot a stupid arrow through a hoop."

"You're still having trouble with it." It wasn't a question. He muted the television as he looked at his nephew.

"Yeah." His smile was faltering.

"You are improving, though."

The younger man nodded. "Of course. I'm getting better. I'll be ready. I just got frustrated today and had to stop."

Arthur stared at Nicholas for a moment. Then, he smiled at him. It was a smile that told Nicholas without words that he knew something very interesting and was about to divulge it. "Gretchen told me what happened at the State Dinner. In short, it was a disaster!"

Nicholas did perk up at that news as he looked at his uncle with a smile of anticipation. Arthur proceeded to describe the disastrous events of the State Dinner with every moment of stupidity of the new princess in the clearest detail. From setting name cards on fire, to breaking glasses, to a chain reaction food-flying train wreck that Gretchen witnessed in person from only two seats away from the teenaged girl, Arthur told Nicholas everything. The smiles on both of their faces grew with every incident discussed.

If Nicholas had waited for another second before turning his attention fully to his uncle, he would have seen a girl on the television that no longer looked anything like the frizzy, spectacled mess he knew as Princess Amelia.

~X~X~X~X~X~

"Go away all of you and leave me alone!" came a young girl's shout from the television.

Nicholas sighed and leaned against the doorjamb. "Uncle, really, isn't there anything else better on?'

"Nicholas," managed Arthur through a laugh. "I would wager that this is more entertaining than watching a joust during the renaissance!"

Nicholas offered a lopsided grin. "I'm pretty sure you should really be saying 'during the Middle Ages.'"

Arthur scoffed at his nephew. "And that's why we'll leave the precision of language to you. It'll matter more when you're crowned than with me in a Parliamentary seat."

Nicholas shook his head, and stayed where he was against the doorjamb. "Look at this boy!" shouted Arthur, a twisted smile on his face. Nicholas leaned just enough to see the boy. He looked about his age. He was wearing a shirt that looked rather large on him, making him look more like a child than he should.

"Josh Bryant..." said the boy on the screen. "I go to Grove High School." Then, it seemed like he was getting more comfortable with the camera and he started to pose arrogantly.

Nicholas shook his head. "It gets worse every day, doesn't it?"

Arthur's excitedly sparkling eyes focused on Nicholas. "Are you mad? This gets _better_ every day! With every single thing this girl does, she makes it less and less likely for anyone to consider her capable of ruling! This is good for us, Nicholas!"

Nicholas, however, was already out of the sitting room and making his way to the library. He needed a new book. He didn't miss the feminine scream that blared from the television, the delighted laugh of his uncle, or the newscaster's voice saying, "That was the scream of Princess Mia," from down the hallway only moments after he'd left.

~X~X~X~X~X~

"We'll know once and for all very soon, Nicholas," announced Arthur as he came into the kitchen.

Nicholas turned to his uncle, surprised that the man had even set foot into the kitchen. It was a place that the older man never ventured. He stood staring at his uncle with his back at the counter wearing the apron given to him by his mother. He resisted wearing it fearing that he would stain it or ruin it somehow.

He knew what his uncle meant, and that was why he chose to hide in the kitchen that morning. In San Francisco it was the night of the Genovian Independence Day Ball, but in Genovia that night had already passed. Suddenly, there was a clenching in his gut that he knew shouldn't be there. Why was he nervous? It wasn't as though his outcome was going to change too much. But at that moment, all Nicholas wanted to do was escape the kitchen. Now that his uncle has stepped into the room, it was no longer his sanctuary.

With shaking hands he was desperately trying to control, he took off his apron and put it in a place in the kitchen safe from where food would be prepared. Without looking at his uncle, he left the kitchen. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he walked towards the back of the house, and unconsciously picked up the bow and the freestanding quiver of arrows. Before he even realized it, he found himself standing at the proper distance from the hoop and target in the early morning sunlight.

With a frustrated and angry sigh, he set up the quiver and drew an arrow as he held the bow ready. He lifted the bow and drew it back, aiming down the shaft of the arrow to the target. He noticed then that his left hand was shaking. He lowered the bow and relaxed the tension.

He knew he'd left the door open in his tirade when he clearly heard the phone ringing. He heard his uncle answer. It was time. Time to learn whether or not this newfound princess was about to make his life easier or harder. Was he going to have to fight her for the throne or would he be able to waltz right into the royal palace?

He heard his uncle's footsteps coming towards him across the well-tended grass. Gretchen's hushed voice was heard from the phone that his uncle had set to speaker. "She finally showed up." There was a slight pause. "Looks like she sprinted here in the rain. Doesn't look like a princess at all, sir."

It got Nicholas's attention. He agreed with Gretchen. The frizzball he'd seen in the paper didn't look much like a princess to him either. He took a deep breath and raised the bow again.

"Is that her speaking?" asked Arthur, when a young voice was heard in the background.

"Yes."

"Then be quiet! Let's hear it." His uncle was now only a few feet from him.

Nicholas's right hand rose so that his arrow hand was anchored at his lips.

"…giving up my claim to the throne, and my mother helped me by telling me that it was okay and by supporting me like she has for my entire life. But then I wondered how I'd feel after abdicating my role as Princess of Genovia…"

His left hand on the bow was still shaking. Nicholas closed his eyes, willing the tension out of his body. This girl mentioned her mother and her support. His mind went to his own mother. She'd supported him and what he wanted until her death. At the thought of her, Nicholas felt himself relax. He took a deep breath and held it for balance. He opened his eyes and gazed steadily down the shaft of the arrow.

"I choose to be forever more Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, Princess of Genovia."

Nicholas released the arrow and watched as it sailed through the hoop and stuck into the target behind the hoop. He felt a small smile spread across his lips. He knew he had a few years yet to fully prepare, but it did not matter. He felt ready.

**Chapter Notes:** _There are several lines directly quoted from the first film. They are not mine; I'm just borrowing them. This is the only chapter that deals with the first film – at least exclusively. There is one more chapter before we get right into the events of the second film. There's one more thing I have planned for the story before diving right into the second film. It's a relevant and transition chapter. Have patience – Mia is coming into the story full force very soon! Review to let me know your thoughts! (But, again, keep your flames to yourself. They are unnecessary. Constructive criticism is welcome, but abuse is uncalled for.) Thank you! ~ RK _


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** ~ Notice: _The update pace on this chapter is beyond shameful. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, but it is absolutely necessary before I go into events of the second film. Fear not! I'm determined to finish this story, readers! _

_However, I am about to go on a long trip which will leave me with little to no internet access, which will make updating pace even worse. However, I managed to bust this chapter out before I leave and before the upcoming hiatus. By the time I return, I hope to have it finished and ready to post in its entirety. I will have some spare time, just no internet to be able to update. :( _

_As I said, it should be finished by the time I return from the trip. Hope everyone sticks around to read the rest when I return and post like mad! Thank you, everyone, for reviewing and reading! It truly makes my day! ~ RK_

**~ Chapter Four ~**

It was usually noisy in the kitchen, but it was not as common for one of the wait staff, the chef, and the line cook - specifically the one who served as the _pâtissier – _to be having a rather loud discussion right in the middle of the kitchen traffic while dishes needed preparing. Nicholas looked up with only his eyes, refusing to lift his head, as he was leaning over a particularly mouthwatering dessert on which he was putting the finishing touches. The very last thing to go on it was the raspberry-merlot reduction. This was a work of art, and like an apprentice under a master painter, Nicholas's proverbial brush strokes were growing more and more sure as he gained more and more practice. He was just about to finish the Blueberry-Raspberry Chocolate Mousse Tart dish when he heard his supervisor's voice directly to his left.

"Mon petit commis." The man was the _chef de partie_ that was training him to become an accomplished pastry chef.

Nicholas had caught his attention when he had been on the other side of the kitchen doors as a customer and, after been disappointed in the dessert he'd been served, had demanded to see the chef and then proceeded to engage him in a verbal debate about the successes and pitfalls in the recipe. It was only when Nicholas had arrogantly declared, "I can make this better," that Guillaume DeCiel issued the challenge to the young student of Cambridge.

'If you can make a better version, you can be my little apprentice in my kitchen.' Nicholas accepted the challenge as formally as a man of ages past being slapped with a glove to the cheek. In only five days the young man did indeed produce a superior version of the dessert, and Guillaume fulfilled his end of his challenge. Nicholas very quickly became Guillaume's favorite student. It was only a little over one week into Nicholas's apprenticeship that they realized they got along quite well. And almost from the first several days of their tentative friendship, Guillaume always called Nicholas by the pet-name, "mon petit commis." My little apprentice.

However, the way Guillaume had just said this playful name to Nicholas was in a tone very different to that which he normally used. Nicholas stopped what he was doing, putting the raspberry-merlot reduction on hold for a moment as he actually looked at Guillaume. When he did, he noticed that the chef and the member of the wait staff stood just behind his supervisor. Suddenly, a dull feeling of dread filled Nicholas.

"Messieurs," he nodded at them, darting his eyes from one to the other. "Chef."

"A customer has demanded to see the chef."

Nicholas was confused and he knew his face clearly indicated it. "But," he began, focusing his attention on the chef himself. "_You_ are the chef, not me."

Guillaume smirked at Nicholas. "This particular customer is as persistent as you and knows what the request usually means. She wants to see the person who _actually_ cooked the dish she received."

Nicholas knew that Guillaume was referring to his demand to see him. Even then, he knew how the request was usually handled. The chef – the head chef – would be the face of responsibility for all things in the kitchen. Each success was his, and so was each failure. It was not common – in fact, it was rare – for the customer to meet the member of the kitchen that actually prepared the dish on which they wished to comment.

But it seemed protocol was being tossed right out like a bad soufflé!

"I understand, monsieur." Nicholas had never gotten this demand. He straightened and set his reduction aside. He took a deep breath, and began to wipe his hands. He hesitated and then went to fully wash his hands. Best be prepared in case the customer had something good to say and tried to shake his hand. It would be less than ideal if he were to shake this person's hand while it was not exactly clean.

"What was the dish?" asked Guillaume.

It was the waiter that responded. "The Mango-Lime Tart with Caramel Rum Sauce."

Guillaume made a noise that Nicholas couldn't quite place – but he thought it could be delight. It was, after all, one of the desserts Nicholas had improved with Guillaume since he began training under the man. He walked back to the group of men as he wiped his hands on a dishtowel. He looked at Guillaume, wondering what he should be doing.

The chef spoke first. "Come with me, young man." Then, he pivoted sharply and began to follow the waiter back onto the floor.

Nicholas must have hesitated too long, because he found himself propelled forward by a forceful shove to his back. He glanced behind him and saw Guillaume smirking at him as he took up the reduction intending to finish the Blueberry-Raspberry Chocolate Mousse Tart. "Go on!"

Nicholas jogged only until the kitchen doors before he slowed to a dignified walk. Whether he was to receive praise or cutting remarks, he would face it with dignity and grace.

His resolve shifted only a little as he saw the table that had summoned him. He recognized one of the three women at the table, and their…relationship was a little strained. Her name was Teresa Golden, and she was his former flatmate's sister.

"_Henry," Nicholas shouted in his excitement as he burst through the door. Living in England with a fellow Genovian certainly made some things easier. There were no cultural boundaries to work around. They both spoke the same language – both figuratively and literally. "You won't believe it! I start training as a _commis_ in two days! I made a better dish than the chef! Remember how I accepted that challenge? I did it better, so they've agreed to train me. Isn't that—"_

_He stopped short as he saw Lord Henry Golden cradling a cup of tea from his place in the armchair with an expression that rooted him to his place just as effectively as a glare from his uncle. "You're right, I don't believe it." _

_With a little more force than necessary, Henry slammed the cup down onto the small table at the side of the armchair and stood, prowling angrily towards his flatmate. "Most people would think it's an honor to date my sister! But I guess you aren't most people, are you? You're a living stereotype of bad nobility!" _

_Nicholas couldn't deny what Henry was saying. Yes, he had just ended his relationship with Henry's sister, Teresa, almost five hours before returning to their flat. His hope was that she wouldn't come crying to her younger brother about the situation. But considering this now, he should have expected it. They were close after all. "Listen, there was no way that we were going to—"_

"_I have a title, Nick, and it's 'Lord.' You should use it sometime, Commis Nicholas!" Henry snarled at him. _

_Nicholas was very tempted to announce that he shared that title with his flatmate, but also knew that there was a more important subject. "_Lord_, then," he said with a sneer. "Teresa made it clear that she didn't want someone like me. She started to shape me into what she considered the perfect boyfriend and—"_

"_Don't turn this on her! Maybe if you weren't trying to," he smiled cruelly at Nicholas, "shape your perfect ridiculous dessert and spent a little more time with her then maybe she wouldn't have come to me crying. Because you know what? She said something different than you." _

"_Oh, really? And what was that?" _

_Henry's glare intensified. "She said that you told her that you didn't want her because she was a spoiled bitch, who cared more about whether she dated someone of noble birth and high rank than a guy who actually cared about her."_

_They engaged in a battle of wills silently for a long while. _

_Nicholas sighed. "I did care about her. But anyone who tells me that what I want to do in my life or what I love about my life is a waste and pointless…" He shrugged. "Then they aren't worth my time, no matter if I care about them or not. I can't date someone I don't respect and who doesn't respect me. And if you needed the real reason why I told your sister that I didn't want her anymore, then that's it." _

_Henry's expression turned sour. "Fine," he snapped out. "Then, go do your precious cooking. Go play with your food. But I want you to move out of this flat, you got it? I'm not going to have Teresa upset whenever she comes here. I'll give you three days, that's it." _

_Henry sighed then looked down, his expression almost torn. Nicholas realized that because of his friend's sister he was about to lose one of his best friends that he had here in England. On a different scale, he knew that he was about to lose a supporter in his uncle's plan to take the Genovian Throne. It was a good thing he never told either of them about that. Things could have fallen apart before they'd really got started. But it was still unfair that he was being forced to lose Henry Golden – _Lord _Golden – all because Nicholas didn't think his older sister would have been a good choice for him as his future Queen. The reason he gave him was very much true, and was the more important reason to him, personally, but he also had to think of his other future – the one that involved him in a throne room and not a kitchen. Whether it was her disapproval of his culinary interests or her unsuitability as Queen, _Lady _Teresa Golden was simply a poor choice in every way. _

"_Do—" Henry's voice stopped in his throat. He cleared his throat and then tried again. "You want me to help you find a place?" _

"_No, _Lord Golden_, I'm sure I'll be fine." _

_Henry's face then twisted. "Don't do this, man." _

"_I thought you wanted to use your title, Lord Golden." He stared at Henry feeling none of the anger he knew he forced his expression to contain. What he really felt was the loss of his friend and the sadness in the manner in which it was occurring. "I'll also have to quit the polo team. She won't have to see me playing on the same team as her brother. She'll move on faster." _

"_Nick, I'm not saying you have to get out of everything that we—"_

"_Anyway, I'll be in training for a lot of my time not in classes, so I guess the rugby team is not an option, either." _

"_Nick, come on. Don't—"_

"_So, Lord Golden, you can tell Teresa that she won't have to see me again in almost any way, unless it's on the campus. So, I'll get out of the place as fast as possible, even with the three days you so graciously gave me." Then, with a head bow, Nicholas walked toward his room in their flat and began to gather his things. He never saw the sad look that came over Henry Jerome's face as his friend and flatmate walked away. _

_Two days later, Nicholas knocked on a door he had never seen before, and began to speak as soon as it opened. "When you said, 'in my kitchen,' did…Did that include the one at your home, too?" He offered a hopeful and sad smile. _

_He was answered with a warm and kind smile. "Oui, mon petit commis. Entrez-vous." The door opened wider, and Nicholas stepped inside. _

The three women didn't notice him yet. More importantly, Teresa didn't notice him yet. Each woman was young in years, and they made an interesting combination. A blonde sat in the center. The woman to the right had strawberry-blonde hair, and to the left was Teresa, with her red hair. They were all discussing something amongst themselves, the other girl gesturing enthusiastically before she speared a piece of the tart and eating it, an analytical look on her face. Teresa also hesitantly sampled some of it, a tiny smile appearing on her face as she tasted it. Lastly, the blonde batted their forks away and carefully and meticulously cut away a piece with the side of her fork, chewing on her bottom lip in concentration, before she lifted the small piece she'd cut away and gracefully slid it from her fork by closing her lips around it and pulling the utensil away. Her face was overcome with delight.

It was at that instant that Nicholas realized that what they were discussing between them was his dessert. Finally, their small group stopped at the table. The waiter, the chef, and Nicholas. The waiter announced their presence with a simple cough. "Ladies, the chef."

Teresa looked up and saw Nicholas. He gave her credit for not reacting with much more apparent emotions. However, he didn't miss the gaze flicker to the dessert and then to the fork. He also did not miss the sour look on her face as she reached for her napkin and…wiped her mouth in a way that did not disguise the fact that she did not swallow her last bite. It was as she began to take large sips of her drink that Nicholas's attention was drawn to the strawberry-blonde woman.

"Did you cook this, chef…" She trailed off, clearly asking the chef to supply his name.

"Chef Robert Oaks, miss."

"Chef Oaks," repeated the woman. "Did you cook this?" She nodded at the half-eaten dessert. Nicholas wasn't sure if her reaction was a good or bad one. He was growing more nervous by the moment.

"I developed the original dish, miss, but not the end product you see before you."

"I see," said the woman on the right. "Well, then, who _did_ make this?"

Nicholas felt the gaze of the chef on him. He cleared his throat before speaking. "I did, miss."

The blonde girl's attention went from Chef Oaks to the waiter, and then shifted lastly to Nicholas before her eyes darted down to the dessert smiling shyly. "It's very good," she whispered to the tablecloth. Nicholas immediately found her endearing, and then wondered how she was friends with Teresa Golden.

The woman's voice brought his attention back to her. "Well! I need to say something about it!" Nicholas suddenly wasn't sure what she was about to say by the harsh tone with which she'd just spoken. He hoped she agreed with the blonde. "This was one of the best things I've ever eaten!"

Nicholas smiled. "Thank you."

Then she smiled at him, her white teeth showing that it was genuine. "I just had to meet the person who made this." Then, she turned to the blonde. "You were impressed, weren't you?"

The blonde began to blush fiercely. "Oh, Nyla, please." Her eyes flicked up to Nicholas, who was smiling at her, making her blush brighter. "It was extremely good. Thank you."

The other girl whispered, but making no effort to conceal it. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Then, she faced the group of men again. "She thought it was 'delicious' and then she said that she 'wanted to see the person who made it,' only she's far too shy to do it herself."

Nicholas looked to his side and saw Chef Oaks and the waiter that had accompanied him to the table begin to turn away after quietly excusing themselves. He was alone out here. He looked back at the table's occupants, focusing on the blonde. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, miss…" He trailed off like Nyla had to Chef Oaks, hoping she would take the hint.

She did. "Lady Patterson."

Nicholas allowed surprise for only a moment, before he offered his hand. "Then, thank you, Lady Patterson, for your compliments."

She smiled as she placed her hand into his, her palm down. He knew the gesture very well. "And may I know the name of the chef?" she asked, seemingly embarrassed by taking initiative.

He continued to smile at her. "You already know the name of the chef. However, I'm simply an apprentice right now." He kissed the back of her hand. "My name is Nicholas."

They smiled at each other.

When he left their table, he heard Teresa begin to tell Lady Patterson what a horrible person he was, that he was flirting to try to get a good tip, that he wasn't genuine. By that time, though, he didn't care what she thought anymore. He didn't know how Lady Patterson could possibly be friends with Teresa, but he still found the shy blonde completely endearing.

Most importantly, she enjoyed his cooking.

As the restaurant was closing down and the cooks and wait staff were all leaving to go home, the same waiter that had accompanied him and Chef Oaks to the table approached him with a strange grin on his face. When they were face to face, the waiter held out a small slip of paper. "I think this was for you."

Nicholas took the paper and looked down at it. On it was a phone number, and a few words quickly written. _'Elissa Patterson. Too shy to do it. Helping her out. Call her. ~ Nyla' _

Nicholas smiled as he pocketed the paper just before Guillaume came up beside him so they could go back to their flat.

In the end it took him a week to call Lady Elissa Patterson, claiming he was just as shy as she had been.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Nicholas was waiting for Elissa to arrive at the flat so that they could go to their weekly dinner. It was a time to catch each other up on their lives, what they were up to, what their hopes were, and what they enjoyed. They were still getting to know each other, and a restaurant outing was the safest, least threatening way to do just that. But Nicholas still hesitated in mentioning Genovia. He didn't want this friendship ruined by the worst part of him. And whenever Elissa confided anything personal to him, it almost slipped out. But he never told her. Genovia could wait. He simply wanted to be young man having a meal with a young woman. He knew she felt similarly. They both looked forward to their time together. It suited them both, and always put them in good moods.

Except right now, Nicholas was in a very bad mood.

"Uncle, what are you talking about?" He paced the room while holding the phone to his ear. He had gotten back from his last class of the day when his uncle called. He was certain the older man knew his schedule better than he did, if his precise calling times were any indication.

"The way is clear for you, Nicholas."

"What?"

"This morning, I read this! The girl was just left by her boyfriend from America. It was a disastrous and messy argument right in the middle of the streets near her school. He practically announced to all of Genovia that he didn't want to be tied to a life of royalty and not be allowed to do what he truly wanted! Delicious, really, how it all happened."

Nicholas sighed. He was getting tired of discussing Princess Mia with his uncle. The man was borderline obsessed with her. "And that means what to me?"

"After this event I did some investigating and I've found a little bit of information that is our bull's eye!" Nicholas could hear the man shaking in his excitement. "One Genovian Law that's been overlooked for…well, how long isn't important. What _is_ important is that the law states that a princess must marry before she can assume the throne."

Nicholas stopped his pacing. That got his attention. "Are you telling me that—"

"You may not have to have a true fight for the throne. With this breakup, it's practically yours. Once you graduate in…how long now, Nicholas?"

"Three weeks."

"In three weeks when you return home, I'll begin to play this card of ours." Nicholas was about to respond when he heard a knock on the door. He was heading to the door when his uncle continued speaking. "Aren't you pleased by this, Nicholas?"

Nicholas looked out of the window next to the door and saw the identity of his guest. He smiled. "Uncle, I have to go. I'm going to dinner."

He was about to open the door but hesitated at his uncle's next sentence. "Good! If you are seeing someone this will be even better. Returning to Genovia already primed for the throne, marriage, and then an heir to your—"

"Uncle!" snapped Nicholas. "I'm not dating her. We're friends, that's all."

"Make sure it becomes more! Move quickly! You only have three weeks. When you take the crown you'll need a woman to be your queen. Make sure she's pretty, do you understand?"

Nicholas didn't bother responding. He hung up the phone just as he opened the door. "Elissa," he said, his face breaking into a smile, though it wasn't as bright as usual.

"Are you alright, Nicholas?" She tilted her head to the side.

"Yeah," he said. He put the phone down on the nearest surface. "You ready?"

Elissa smiled. "Always ready to try something new to eat. Is it your mission to introduce me to all kinds of new food?" The laugh was clear in her voice.

He could not help but respond to her mood. "Only the good food, Lady Elissa."

She smacked him in the chest with her clutch purse. "Stop it, Nicholas! You know I hate titles!"

He laughed as he offered his arm to her, which she accepted. Soon enough they were off to a new restaurant, new menu options, and another dinner in which they could learn more about each other.

However, during their dinner, Nicholas was lost in thought about what his uncle had said to him. He knew that he should come back to Genovia with someone on his arm, but he'd tried to prepare with Teresa, who was a Genovian and everything!

It was unsurprising to him when she never came to his restaurant after that day that Nyla had asked for Elissa to see the chef. Thankfully, it seemed that Teresa was the one ostracized, and not Elissa. Nyla still came to the restaurant with Elissa when he was working, especially when he told Elissa about a new dessert going on in the kitchen. He always received a little note at the end of the night from them both with their opinions on the latest creation.

Even the staff at the restaurant thought he was dating one of the women. Some thought both. Nicholas didn't bother wasting his time trying to stop the spread of his ladies' man reputation. He knew it would get out throughout the area through word of mouth, but it was simply not worth his effort to combat it. He had other concerns, the biggest was the very one of which he was thinking as he sat at dinner with Elissa that night. Genovia.

He looked at Elissa across from him at the table, who was enjoying her meal with a pleased and graceful manner. Yes, she was pretty. She was elegant. He knew that she was well-educated. She was passionate about her interests. She loved his cooking. She'd quickly become his best friend. She accepted everything about him.

Well, everything he told her, that is. Would she accept this? He looked at her for a long while. He was going to graduate soon, then return home. He couldn't stay in England forever, no matter who he would leave behind. And he did not want to lose Elissa. There was only one thing to do, and it was a terrible risk.

Genovia could not wait any longer.

Nicholas took a long sip from his drink. "Elissa," he began, waiting to continue until her attention was solely on him, hoping her smile would remain after this discussion. He took a deep breath. "Have you ever heard of Genovia?"

**Chapter Notes:** _If my French is poor, please let me know in a PM, thanks. There are a bunch of characters in this chapter that are also in the second film – though I may have stolen their names from the credits list, especially their first names. Those characters aren't mine either. I'm playing with them. (Although the waiter, Chef Oaks, and Guillaume are mine.) Up next – but not until I return from my trip – will be all of the events of the second film. _

_Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Let me know your thoughts! (If I do not respond to your signed reviews, I have probably already left on my trip and am without internet, so my responses will be severely delayed.) Hang in there, this will be finished! Thank you for reading, everyone! ~ RK _


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